


Drive

by SunsetOrchids



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Multi, Prologue, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunsetOrchids/pseuds/SunsetOrchids
Summary: A prologue of V's rise through Night City, right before she hits it big.





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

> I'm DYING to get this game in my hands, I've never been so pumped for something in my life. That being said there's not a lot of info yet so I don't know what'll actually happen. I'm using what little there is to fill in the blanks. My V has a penchant for getting what she wants and increasing her wealth, her backstory choices are as follows:
> 
> Childhood Hero: Solo of Fortune (Morgan Blackhand)  
> Key Life Event: Ran away from home (to be with her gang boyfriend, ah young love)  
> Why Night City?: Ex-Lover is in town. Currently incarcerated and never getting out.

 

It wasn’t always like this, trying to climb that never-ending ladder. She wasn’t always in Night City chasing eddies and searching for new wares. No, this was supposed to be the promised land. This was supposed to be where everything turned around. Here it’d be all about that cybernetic trade. Here they’d move up and out of the bottom of the barrel. No more moving lace, breathing in toxic shit at all hours in cramped flats, no more randoms showing up at the door begging for just a little bit more.

At least she’s rid of that last bit. Baz was a good step to the top of the heap. The cybernetic trade was a good game to get into. It’s not what she imagined, sure, but nothing good is ever what you think it’ll be. This? This will be good. Studying herself in the club's flashing windowpanes she feels it right now. This is something she could do to keep that upward mobility.

It’s still raining, torrential sheets cascading down across the city. They hardly ever get this much but that’s alright. Makes business easier. Forces people inside. Checking the forecast again she wonders how flooded the lower levels are. She has a meet up in a couple hours with a guy who’d like to work with her, thinks he’s got potential, talks a mean game and knows his way around firearms. She’s good with netrunning; he can help with the rest, especially on this job.

If she gets it. She’ll get it.

The forecast is interrupted, a ping incoming. Her clients are coming. Swiveling in her seat her gaze tracks from the blurry windows back through the Afterlife’s hazy pink and blue din to the brawny bartender she’s been flirting with for the last three deals made here. He catches her look, starts pouring two more shots to send her way. Good. No one will ever say she’s not generous.

Far across the floor the entrance whooshes open, forcing patrons aside, their conversations never diminishing. Two people walk in, suits clashing with the general attire. ‘DYNALAR’ stretches across their breast pockets. They both search the premises until they spot her commandeered table way up in the corner, a perfect place to watch the entire crowded floor, the club packed with people making their own deals. As if on cue a pretty smile fixes upon her pretty painted lips.

She initially only joked about meeting them here. Guess they’re serious. Serious buyers deserve her utmost attention.

They appear so proper, politely excusing their way across the bumping floor. She bites back laughter; they’re gonna get themselves killed looking like that down here. This is not the right territory to be wearing suits and it’s not even the worst place she could think of meeting. Compared to the rest of the Afterlife her cybernetics are tame, just a little glimmer here and there to pull in the assholes who can’t help themselves, but even those are a bit much to the suits. She can see the disgust on their faces as they inch closer.

“Miss V?” the shorter one inquires, voice hard to hear beneath the club’s loud music. He sidles up to her first. They’ve never met but he’s the one who’s been sending her information. He’s here as a neutral party. She flashes her teeth, long dark locks falling to one shoulder as she tilts, hand reaching to shake his. He’s clearly got some ware; she can feel it in his grip. So much for the Plain Jane face.

“Gentlemen,” she greets them once they’ve taken up seats at her table. The taller one is silent, something she appreciates in men but especially him. Their drinks are brought over, slid in front of them. Neither touches their glass. She finishes the rest of hers before continuing. “Glad you could make it. Let’s talk. What couldn’t be said over the Net?”

“Sure this is a good spot?” the shorter one asks, nerves visible on his pasty face, the Afterlife’s intense lights not helping this effect. She keeps her laughter bottled up. No one’s listening here. No one cares.

“Travi,” she laments, enjoying the blush creeping up his neck. It’s a good thing she wore something a bit revealing, leather jacket slung across her chair and low-cut top keeping him off his corporate game. “I wouldn’t ask you here otherwise. So what’s up? How many are we looking at?”

“Ah, eight,” he nervously admits, knees jittering under the table. They want modifications, pieces of hardware that’ve only surfaced in rumor mills down here, but up where the suits are? That’s where the modifications were stolen from. “Four in Westbrook, two in Heywood and…two in Pacifica.”

“Bonus if you scav the last two quietly,” the taller one remarks, earning her interest. Her mauve eyes study him, quickly realizing he’s the brains of this operation. Figures. He always did like bossing others around.

“No one will hear a thing,” she promises, arms folding on the table. Outside the rain’s intensified, Night masked in a messy, grey haze. She’s going to have to change the meet up with her contact. He’s already pinging her, asking for a new location. “What about the others? Don’t care so long as it’s done?”

Travi glances to his partner before offering a hesitant nod. “Ye. Less noticeable the better, of course.”

She shows bright teeth. The dossiers sent previously gave her some information to go off. She figures the first four in Westbrook will be the easiest: they’re all friends. They’re probably the ones who stole this shit in the first place, distributing it to the highest bidders. “Of course. Have their BD’s? I’ll need those, clearance to their networks—oh, and eddies upfront. All of it.” She’s going to need to see her doc if she’s going after eight targets.

“Twenty-five percent,” the taller one negotiates as if he possibly could. Her fingers dance across the table and she takes his shot, happy to engage.

“Everything or nothing. Where you think I’m gonna go, Raav? You’ve seen my work. I’m good on my promises but hey, if you don’t want my help you can always find someone else.”

But they won’t and she knows it. They don’t know the people down here like she does. The taller one’s brow screws up, irritated. “Fifty.”

“I don’t think I said I negotiate in our previous chats. Raav, you’re asking a lot for such a limited budget. Do you want their hardware or not?”

They truly don’t enjoy her using their names. Should’ve thought about that before coming down to the lower class. Raav clearly doesn’t want to keep going but he’ll have to if he wants the best. She reminds him why they’re here, leaning forward. “Raav, you know what became of your brother. The same can be done for each one of these fuckers—worse. But…if you have a better idea I won’t stop you. Backing out won’t hurt my feelings; I’ve got other clients.”

His gaze finally matches hers. “Vedhi. Don’t forget what I know.”

“Don’t forget what _I_ know,” she retorts, unflinching. Beside him Travi sweats, pulling on his collar. He wishes they were already gone.

“One hundred percent upfront, alright?”

Grinning, she leans back, Raav’s glower ignored. Serves him right for trying to bargain. “Got yourself a deal. How’re the kids, Travi? Still with that blonde chick?”

He’s so not comfortable with her words, baffled how she knows such intimate details. Does it matter? No, not today, but perhaps in the future. She’s mining his network as they speak. He forges ahead without addressing her questions, finally downing his shot before it can be stolen. “Payment will show up tonight along with details and clearance. We’d like this done in a timely manner so…”

“Two weeks,” she agrees, already planning ahead. “Should be done by then. I’ll deliver their pieces…clean. You want any other proof or what?”

“No, thank you.” Travi’s voice is tight, squeaky for a man his age. “I trust you.”

He better. She offers her signature smile. “Alright, gentlemen. You’ve got me on board. Oh—I do need one more thing.” Her fingers trace across the tabletop, mindful of her client’s attention. “No Maelstrom in Pacifica. Whenever I get there, they gotta be gone. You know how it is between us. It’s gotta be quiet.”

“It’ll be quiet,” Raav assures her, smirking. “Just like you.”

Her eyes train on him a second before flitting to the windows. “Forgot how much I hate you. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Travi’s up and ready to go in an instant. Raav takes his time, lingering gaze studying the floor behind them. He obviously finds the Afterlife beneath him, like somewhere he should never need to step foot in. Unfortunately for him, if he wants something done correctly he’s got to do some begging. She wanted the begging, honestly, is disappointed they’re already done.

His hands adjust a fancy tie. “Gotta say I’m surprised. You inhabit some sad places nowadays, Vedhi.”

She rises, rounding the table to shake Travi’s hand once more. Raav’s isn’t considered. She’d never touch him in a million years, but she will antagonize him to the grave. It’s what he deserves. “Heard you like worse. Thought this’d be appropriate for backstabbers like you.”

“You’re a fucking cunt,” he states over his partner’s head, Travi ducking and swimming for the exit. Her smile becomes gracious, flattered. That _is_ what she’s going for. It helps down in these parts.

“Thank you. I try my best.” As he’s turning she juts her chin, a deep-rooted need to add more. “Hey. I appreciate you came to me. These kids must be gifted if you’re asking someone like _me_ to pick them apart.”

Raav’s eyes roll, disgusted. “Should’ve stayed away from Baz, V. He ruined you.”

Her gaze tracks him on his way through the crowded club still smiling. Legs crossing she tosses her hair straight, and then signals to the bartender for another shot. Raav’s got it all wrong. Baz didn’t ruin her.

He gave her this opportunity, and for that she will be forever grateful.


End file.
